


This Nest of Sparrows 3 - A Matter of Time

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-15
Updated: 2005-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-07 03:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS: "A Matter of Time"SUMMARY: The continuing saga of Millie Guthro and the World According to Jack.  Timing is everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

  
Stargate SG-1 FanFiction - This Nest of Sparrows - A Matter of Time

Millie Guthro glanced at her watch. Twenty-two minutes late. Damn! The woman in the car in front of her slowly eased her Lincoln Navigator towards the large menu board then leaned out her window. Taking her own sweet time, she studied the board, apparently reading it line for line. Okay, was it Millie's imagination or had the woman not just spent the last ten minutes sitting in line, during which time she could have figured out what she wanted to eat? Lady Navigator continued to read and Millie tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, checking her watch again. Jack would be waiting.

"Good grief. Order already." There were a limited number of ways in which to order fried fat; it didn't take a rocket scientist to order a friggin' burger and a bag of fries.

Finally, the woman spoke into the speaker at some length before leaning back into her car. She eased the huge SUV slightly forward, then slammed on her brakes and spoke into the speaker again.

Milled groaned and pounded her forehead against the steering wheel, then flinched and looked down at the dashboard as her own car's engine suddenly slowed, idling roughly. Damn! She slipped the car into neutral and gave it some gas, loudly revving the engine. When she glanced back up, the look on Lady Navigator's face was priceless as she suspiciously eyed Millie and her Metal Beast. Millie giggled and revved the motor again.

"What's the matter, Lady, afraid my foot might slip off the brake and I'll accidentally throw you into next Tuesday?" Millie grinned broadly and waved.

The woman hurriedly spoke into the speaker, put her over-priced Brag-Mobile in gear and sped to the pick-up window.

"Thank God." Millie noisily gunned her way to the speaker.

"Order when you're ready."

Well, if that were really true, her order would have been placed - she glanced again at her watch - geesh! 16 minutes ago.

"Yeah, I'll have two double cheeseburgers with everything, one large fry, a medium Coke and a medium diet Coke."

There was a long, dramatic pause. "Do you want lettuce on those cheeseburgers."

D'uh. Since when was lettuce not a part of 'everything'? "Yes. Lettuce."

"Okay. . . . What about tomato?"

Holy crap! "Yes. Tomato, onion, pickles, lettuce, mustard, ketchup. Everything. Even buns," she added, just in case. 

There was another long pause. "Cheese?"

Millie groaned and bit her lip. Repeat after me: Do not piss off the help until after they've had a chance to whiz in your food. "Yes. Cheese would be nice."

"Okay. So, that's two double cheeseburgers with everything, including lettuce, tomato and cheese, one large french fry, and one large Coke and a diet."

"Uh, no, wait. Those drinks were mediums."

"Yeah. Larges."

"No. Mediums."

"We don't have mediums."

"Excuse me?" Millie slipped her car into neutral and revved the throbbing motor again.

"I said, we don't have mediums."

She glanced at the menu board. Okay - three prices, three sizes. "Yes, you do."

"No. We don't." The condescension in the voice of what had to be a teenage girl came through the lousy speaker loud and clear. Millie thought she could even detect the popping of gum, but it might have been her overactive imagination. "We have regular, large and jumbo. So, you want larges or what?"

"I want mediums." Actually, I want friggin' mediums, but that may have to wait.

"Ma'am, I told you, we don't have mediums."

Millie revved her motor, put a hand over her mouth and mentally counted to ten. Okay, to twenty. She'd been nice. Hadn't she? She would admit that lettuce could possibly fall outside the realm of 'everything.' She could even stoop to the level of placing a special order for cheese on a cheeseburger. But she absolutely drew the line at calling a medium a large.

She removed her hand from her mouth and smiled up at what she knew to be a camera. "I would like a middle-sized Coke and a middle-sized diet Coke. Please," she added.

"Okay. So that's two larges."

"Two that cost $1.29," Millie insisted, smiling and revving the motor so that she couldn't hear Little Miss I Flunked Math's retort. She couldn't drop it, but didn't have time to argue about it. As the engine noise died down, Millie heard nothing further from the crackling speaker so she scratched the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and gunned her way to the pick-up window.

* * * * *

Juggling the two drinks and a bag containing the burgers and fries, Millie pressed on the doorbell. She knew Jack was home. His pick-up was sitting in the driveway. Finally, after the third ring, the door opened to a slightly dazed looking Jack.

"Millie?"

"Hey, Jack. Did I wake you?"

"Wake me?" He glanced at his watch and then back at her. Taking the drinks from her hand, he forced a tired smile. "No. You didn't wake me."

"Good." She led the way to the dining room, setting the bag on the table. "I brought lunch."

"I can see that." As she dug in the bag, Jack watched her, still holding the drinks. "Why did you do that?"

Millie grinned at him. "Oh, I don't know . . . because I'm so hungry I could eat a horse and burgers were the closest thing I could find?"

She took the drinks from him and set them on the table. Shoving a burger over to him, she sat down. Almost mechanically, Jack pulled out a chair and joined her. He pried open the foil from his sandwich and peered down at it. Millie took her first bite and chewed, watching him.

She swallowed, moaning softly, "God, I was starting to get the shakes." She sipped her soda and made a face, then switched drinks with him. "I hate diet. I don't know how you can drink that stuff."

Jack smiled and lifted the bun on his burger, studying it.

"These are special burgers, you know. They come complete with lettuce, tomato and cheese." Taking another bite, Millie shrugged. "I went all out on you, Jack. You should feel privileged."

"I do." He picked up his burger, started to take a bite, then set it back down. He glanced at the fries and then at her. "Afraid I'm not very hungry."

"Good, 'cause those fries have my name on them." She pulled them over and started wolfing them down sans ketchup, which she had belatedly learned was much like lettuce, tomato and cheese - it constituted a special order and apparently fell under the 'you don't ask, you don't get' rule. "Sorry, I'm late. I got a call from my Aunt Bertha and I couldn't get her off the phone."

"Late?" Jack gave her a blank look.

Millie stopped chewing. "What? It is the 17th, right? Thursday the 17th?"

Jack frowned, then groaned softly. "Oh, God. I'm sorry, Millie. I completely forgot."

"Oh." She swallowed a bite of burger, shoved a fry in her mouth and sipped on her middle-sized 'large' Coke. "Well, if you're busy, we can do it some other time."

"No." Rubbing his eyes, Jack smiled. "No, I'm not busy. It's just been a rough . . . a strange week, that's all."

Her hunger temporarily sated, Millie studied him closely, really looking at him for the first time since she'd arrived. He looked tired . . . again. She also noticed that he was sporting numerous tiny cuts on his arms and she saw a bandage peeking out of the neck of his t-shirt. "What happened this time, Jack? Another training accident?"

His only response was a weary sigh.

"You need to quit that job or it's going to be the death of you."

"Yes, mom."

"I'm serious."

"It's the Air Force, Millie, and I can't just quit."

"Well, not that you're old, but can't you retire or something?"

"It's not that simple. And I am old, but thanks anyway."

"Well, vote for me next election and I'll have you out," she snapped her fingers, "just like that."

"I appreciate the sentiment. But what I do, well, it's just . . . I can't leave right now."

"Oh, I suppose no one else on Earth is qualified to do your job?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose lots of people are, but I couldn't . . . I wouldn't ask anyone else to do it, Millie. You'll just have to trust me on this one."

"Fine. Have it your way." Finishing off the burger, she wadded up the foil and tossed it into the bag. "Why don't we do this some other time, Jack?"

"No. I don't want you driving around in a car that's not running right. You could get stranded somewhere."

"Now who's talking like a mother?"

"Like a father, but that's beside the point. Come on, it'll just take a few minutes." Jack pushed himself up from the table, biting his lip and grimacing.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah." He smiled tightly. "I'm fine. Really. Come on."

But he didn't walk fine. He walked like someone in pain, stiff and favoring his right side. As Millie followed him outside, she couldn't help but wonder exactly what Jack was 'training' his people for. Whatever it was, they obviously weren't getting any better at it, not if Jack's injuries were any indication of their competence.

As they rounded the corner of the house, Jack stopped and let out a long, low whistle.

"That's your car? That's the 'old clunker' your Grandma left you in her will?"

"Yeah."

He made a slow circuit around the vehicle, peering in the windows and brushing his fingers almost lovingly across the taillights. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

"Sure. It's a 1956 Chevy Nomad."

Jack smiled over at her. "Mint condition."

"Harbor blue and white." Millie reached over and rubbed a smudge of dirt from the front fender. "Grandma parked it in the barn."

"Let me guess: she only drove it to church on Sundays."

Millie laughed. "Hardly. She drove it twice a week: once to pick up her groceries, her mail and her weekly bottle of blackberry wine; and once to her Monday night poker game at Freda Richardson's 

house."

"Poker and booze, huh? Guess Grandma wasn't exactly a religious gal then."

"Actually, she was. But she quit going to church when Reverend Sanford told her she was going to hell for smoking."

Jack chuckled. "Poker, booze and smoking. Sounds like Granny was quite a gal."

"Yeah. I miss her."

Brushing by her on his way to the driver's door, Jack gently squeezed her arm but didn't speak. That was another one of the reasons why Millie liked Jack: he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Grunting softly, he eased onto the bench seat and placed both hands on the wheel, looking at the dash.

"My God, this thing has less than 32,000 miles on it. Are they original?"

She leaned against the open door, smiling. "So Grandma said."

"Millie, I think I love you."

Even though he was joking, Millie's heart measured out an extra beat upon hearing his words and she knew she was blushing. She tossed him the keys. "It's not for sale."

"Oh."

"But I'll make you a deal: If you can figure out why it's idling rough, I'll let you drive it."

Jack's face lit up, temporarily banishing the exhaustion and tight little lines of pain around his mouth. "Deal."

"You know, MacGyver used to drive one of these."

Running his hands over the blue and white upholstery, she could tell he was only half-listening. "Who?"

"Never mind. Listen, unless you need me, I think I'll go in and get a head start on tomorrow's cleaning. My boss can be a real pig."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Holler if you need me." Jack was leaning over, looking under the dash. Millie raised her voice. "I'll just be in here starching your boxer shorts and licking your toothbrush."

"Fine. That sounds great."

She laughed at the sound of his muffled voice and the wave of his hand as he dismissed her. "I'll leave you two alone then."

Inside the house, Millie stopped in the dining room and gathered up the remnants of their lunch. She stuck the extra burger and soda in the refrigerator and tossed the trash into the wastebasket. As she grabbed up the dishrag to wipe down the table, she saw the prescription bottles sitting near the sink. Curious, she picked them up.

Lodine, Zithromax and Vicodin. She shook the bottles, which according to the label had been prescribed by a Dr. J. Fraiser. There were only a few of the antibiotic tablets, but the bottle of painkillers and the Lodine-whatever were nearly full. Why was she not surprised? Jack didn't strike her as the 'take as directed' type.

She set the bottles back down and finished cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. When she moved into the living room, she was surprised at the mess. Despite her assertions to the contrary, Jack really wasn't a pig. Quite the opposite actually - except for the kitchen. In fact, thanks to his borderline compulsive neatness, her job was an easy one. Usually.

Today, boxes and papers were scattered across the sofa, coffee table and floor. Frowning, wondering if she should just leave things as they were, Millie squatted down and picked up a small stack of photographs that had spilled out of a shoebox and were laying under the edge of the sofa. As she straightened the glossy prints, she thumbed through them. There were various photographs of a group of men in Air Force uniforms. In every photo, the men were wearing dark sunglasses and flight suits, and were smiling broadly. In one, a dark-haired, muscular man was hamming it up for the camera, his pose ridiculously provocative and feminine. Millie smiled as she leafed through the stack.

The next to last photograph was different. Instead of the group, the subject was two men standing next to each other in front of a large jet. Their faces were solemn and their manner stiff with their arms tucked rigidly behind their backs. Despite their formality, however, Millie had the general impression that the photographer had snapped the picture a fraction of a second too late, just missing out on a tremendous joke. The men appeared comfortable with one another, probably good buddies, and while there was no proof to support it, they seemed to be forcing back laughter. Millie found the picture compelling. Maybe it was the way their elbows were touching or maybe it was just because they were both so damned handsome.

Millie squinted and tilted the photo towards the light filtering through the living room window. The man on the left was Mr. Provocative. As she studied the man on the right, her mouth opened in shock. The young face staring back at her was Jack. Well, it was him, but it wasn't. He looked so different. Photo Jack looked as if life had held nothing but good things, and promised only better. She couldn't help but smile as she studied the man Jack had once been.

Flipping the photo over, she read feminine, flowery handwriting: "My boys. Off to save the world. . . . God help us all!"

Laughing softly, Millie sat down in the armchair near the window and looked at the last photo. It had obviously been taken on the same day. Jack was still wearing the flight suit and sunglasses but had been joined by a slim, attractive blonde wearing a print sundress. Millie knew it was Jack's ex-wife, the same woman who appeared in the framed photo on his nightstand. The woman was standing with her back against Jack's front; he had his arms wrapped around her, his hands pressed territorially over her flat stomach.

Millie flipped the photo over. On the back, the same flowery handwriting proclaimed: "Jack, Sara and Charlie - our first family portrait."

Armed with knowledge of the occasion, Millie turned the picture over and studied their faces again. Jack was positively beaming. The woman, Sara, was resting her hands on Jack's arms and was looking at something just to the left of the camera. Although she was smiling, she looked distracted and worried, and the smile appeared forced.

Staring at Sara's face, Millie felt a sudden urge to check on Jack. Placing the photos back in the shoebox, she ventured outside. He was sitting on the front bumper of her car, leaning slightly to the right with his left arm wrapped across his abdomen. A large toolbox was sitting at his feet.

"Jack?"

He flinched and looked up at her, his face tight and pale. "Hey."

She sat down next to him. "God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to look at my car today."

"Not a problem. It's done."

"Already?"

"It was just the timing."

"The timing?"

"Yeah. Just a simple matter of," he grimaced and tightened his grip on his right side, "adjusting the timing."

"You're hurting."

"I'm okay. Let's take her for a spin."

"How about you come inside and take your pain medicine instead?"

He frowned over at her. "You promised."

Millie had to fight back a smile at the petulance in his voice. "Yeah, I know. But we can go for a spin later."

"Now," he insisted.

"Jack."

"You said I could."

Millie snorted, grinning at him. "What, are you ten?"

He glared at her, but behind the pain, she detected a flash of humor. He was playing with her. "Welcher," he mumbled.

"Baby."

"Am not."

"Are, too," she insisted.

"Not."

"Too."

"Hey," he forced his hand away from his side and straightened, "we can stop and get ice cream."

"Okay, now I know you're ten."

"What, you don't like ice cream?"

Millie giggled. "Soft serve?"

"What else? Come on." Groaning softly, Jack pulled himself upright.

Thirty minutes later they pulled out of the drive-in and onto Fountain Boulevard. Jack was contentedly sucking on a chocolate milkshake and Millie was eating a vanilla ice cream cone. When he stopped at a red light, Millie looked over at the car beside them. A young woman behind the wheel of a red Mustang convertible was ogling Jack. Fiddling with his straw, he was oblivious to the attention.

Millie licked her cone. "Hottie alert at nine o'clock."

"Huh?" Jack looked over at her.

"You're being checked out by Madame Mustang."

He glanced over to his left and the woman met his gaze, smiling and running a manicured hand through her hair. Jack smiled and waved timidly.

"Cool car," the woman yelled over.

"Thanks."

Millie grunted softly.

"Come here often?" the woman laughed.

Jack chuckled and Millie leaned forward, hollering over his shoulder. "Our six kids tend to keep him busy."

"What are you doing?" Blushing slightly, Jack frowned at Millie. The light changed and the young woman glared then floored the Mustang, burning rubber.

"It's green."

Jack shook his head and turned onto Academy Boulevard. "What the hell was that about?"

"She was hitting on you."

"So?"

"D'uh. I'm sitting right here."

Jack glanced at her. "And I repeat: So?"

"For all she knew I'm your wife."

"For all she knew you're my kid, for crying out loud."

"Well that's just stupid. First of all, you're not old enough and secondly, I look nothing like you."

He mumbled something under his breath.

"Yeah, well, right back 'atcha," Millie snapped.

In silence, they drove north on Academy. Millie knew she had no right to be jealous of Jack. He was nothing but her boss, after all. Still, it irked her. She might be out of Jack's league but what right did some stranger have to make that call?

"Timing," he muttered.

She glanced at him. "Yeah, so you said. Sounds like it's running fine, now." She really shouldn't hold a grudge. After all, it wasn't his fault he was a guy. "Thanks."

"No. That's not what I meant. I meant, my timing." He glanced over at her. "It sucks."

As Jack took the Airport Road exit, Millie pitched the last of her ice cream cone out the window. "If that's an apology, I accept. Thank you."

He kept glancing at her.

"What?"

"And?" Jack prompted.

Millie always did hate fishing. "And our six children thank you."

He huffed softly. "Good thing they take after their father, that's all I have to say."

Millie glared at him, then turned to look out her window, hiding her smile. Cute and cool. Damn!

Lost in thought, she was only dimly aware of the clicking of the turn signal and it wasn't until she felt the car rolling to a stop that Millie finally glanced around. What the hell?

"Hey." She read the sign, studied the distant throng of people and looked over at Jack. "What's going on?"

He was so intent on watching the crowd that she wasn't sure he'd even heard her until he turned to look at her. His face was pale.

"Why are we here?" His lack of response scared her. "Jack, come on. Why are we stopping at Memorial Gardens?"

He looked back out the windshield, then down at his hands. He resumed playing with the straw in the melted milkshake. "He was my friend. A long time ago."

"Who?"

His eyes flicked briefly towards the cluster of mourners, then back down at his lap.

"Oh, God. Jack, this is your friend's funeral?" He didn't answer; he didn't move. "Shit." Millie fidgeted, then faced forward in the seat, not looking at him. "You should go over there. I'll wait here."

His voice was soft, almost inaudible. "Too late."

"It's not too late, Jack. It's still going on. Besides, I'm sure they'd understand if . . . just tell them you were in an accident. That you were hurt. You should go."

"No. I mean . . .," he stopped and rubbed a hand over his face. "I have no place here."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Proceeding with caution, she took a moment to consider her next words. "What makes you say that?"

There was a hushed pause as his long fingers nervously toyed with the plastic straw. "I buried him years ago, Millie."

She suddenly realized that the pain lining his face wasn't all physical; it wasn't all brought on by a 'training accident.' The guy was hurting. For real. Where it counts the most. "You just think you did."

As a soft breeze swept in his window, sweeping the fragrance of his favorite aftershave past Millie's face, Jack gazed out at the crowd. "It's true. We were best friends and then . . . something happened and suddenly, I hated him. With everything I had."

Millie inhaled deeply, savoring the cool breeze and the closeness of the man who was nothing more than her boss. Like Jack, she, too, knew when to keep her mouth shut.

"I think . . . I think, deep down, I always thought I'd forgive him. Someday. But . . .," Jack sighed and looked out the side window towards a small grove of evergreens sheltering a granite angel.

"What was his name?"

Jack turned back and looked at her, studying her face in the late afternoon sun. "Frank. Frank Cromwell."

Millie smiled and unbuckled her seatbelt. Sinking back against the door, she slipped off her shoes and pulled her feet up on the bench seat, leaning her head out the open window. "What was he like?"

Jack reached over and shut off the motor, smiling. "He was a smart-ass, like you." Looking at Millie, his smile wilted. "And he was my best friend."

**The End**

  


* * *

  


> Author's Notes: If you enjoyed this story, please send   
>  feedback to Charli Booker  
> 

* * *

> © INSERT DATE IT WAS WRITTEN The characters mentioned in this   
>  story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I,   
>  the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE   
>  SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright   
>  property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright   
>  Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This   
>  fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant   
>  for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
>  are the sole property of the author. 

* * *

  



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